"Poor young man!" the valet muttered with a sorrowful shake of the head and re-entered the palace, the gates of which he closed after him.
[CHAPTER VII.]
DESPAIR.
A few yards from the palace the Count met Michael, who was coming towards him.
"A boat, quick, quick, my good Michael," he shouted, "'tis a matter of life and death."
The sailor, terrified at the condition in which he saw his commandant, wished to ask him what the matter was, but the Count roughly imposed silence on him by repeating his order to procure a boat at once.
Michael bowed his head.
"Woe is me. I foresaw this," he muttered, with mingled grief and anger, and he ran off towards the port.